


Feel Trip

by reliquiaen



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliquiaen/pseuds/reliquiaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was times like this when Marceline looked back and regretted every last one of her life choices." - AU, duh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel Trip

**Author's Note:**

> There is a stainless feel frying pan behind this story.

It was times like this when Marceline looked back and regretted every last one of her life choices. There was so much noise her head felt like it was imploding and she hadn’t had coffee yet this morning because she’d been in _such_ a hurry to vacate the apartment (per Keila’s bellowed instructions) so she wasn’t functioning very well to begin with. Combined with the muggy air outside and the crisp, frigid air inside, the crush of bodies and general atmosphere, she wasn’t exactly surprised to be developing a migraine at nine in the morning.

“Bags in the cloak room,” she called tiredly over the hubbub. Most of the students were doing just that, but there were a few pranksters who chose to ignore her. So she clipped them over the ear and fixed them with a glare. “Bags in the cloak room,” Marceline repeated. “And stop stealing Hannah’s pen.”

The boy in question grinning sheepishly, handing the pen back, before he scurried off to do as he was told. Most of these students were well-behaved, that’s what happened when they got older: they got a little lazier regarding pranks. But somehow, it always seemed the arts gallery could bring out the worst in everyone. Even with the jesters doing their best to disrupt proceedings, Marceline had her students ready to go, standing outside the Ancient History installation just in time.

“Now,” she told them, peering pointedly at those who didn’t like to be bossed around. “Once we’re inside, I want best behaviour. No touching the displays or other silly things. Forget about being representatives of the school, pretend that if you muck up I’ll call your parents. Sit tight for a moment while I go find our guide.”

Not that Marceline expected they’d need one. Every year she brought a class of hoons down to t  
he gallery so they could soak in the various creative arts. Ancient civilisations and the history of music were both covered in this building, a three storey affair with a café out the front and quite a nice view of the river. Behind it, across a grassed area that was too lovely to let schoolkids tamp across, was the art building, where displays of different art disciplines were set up one floor at a time. Ranging from art deco to cubism all the way through Monet’s Blue Period to that random pile of junk people called ‘modern art’. If Marceline was being perfectly honest (and not simply discarding visual art offhand), she’d admit that Renaissance art was quite pretty. Even if it was mostly of Madonna and Child.

She pressed through the throngs by the entrance and sidled up to the reception desk. A smiling blonde attendant was having an enthusiastic conversation with a peppy guard. The security officer beamed when he saw her and waved goodbye to the receptionist, then he disappeared into the gallery. Marceline fixed her attention on the young woman.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m here with a school trip and we’ve got a guide booked. I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction.”

The blonde was still smiling politely. “Did you have a particular guide in mind or is it okay for me to spin the wheel?”

“The latter would be fine, thanks.”

“Alright then… Just one minute.” The receptionist spun on her chair, looking for something on her desk. Her eyes snapped up then, diverting her from the task at hand, obviously catching sight of something further into the office. “Hey,” she called to whoever she’d seen. “Do you want to do a school tour?”

“Not really,” came a muffled reply.

“I promise there’s a bonus in it for you,” the attendant added. She glanced back at Marceline then before continuing. “You won’t regret it.”

“Rosie,” the voice responded testily. “I am one hundred percent certain that I will _definitely_ regret it. Kids are obnoxious and the teachers are…” the words trailed off as a pretty redheaded woman appeared behind Rosie’s chair to glare at her. When she caught sight of Marceline the rest of the sentence died.

“I agree about the kids,” Marceline told her. “Obnoxious, loud, disrespectful. Not sure where you’re going with the teacher bit though. I probably wouldn’t like it anyway.”

The redhead’s face turned a shade to match her hair. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“No worries, I get it a lot.”

“Do the tour,” Rosie whispered, prodding the woman in her side. “Do it. Go on.”

“Ugh, fine,” she said, slapping Rosie’s hand away. “Put my name down. At least this way I won’t be spending the afternoon with Louise.”

“No,” Marceline agreed as if she knew what they were talking about. “You get to spend it with obnoxious children and a _teacher_. Gross, right? They better pay you double for this torture.”

Sticking her hand out, the redhead rolled her eyes. “Bonnie,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”

“Marceline,” she replied, taking the hand. “And I can forgive you. Though you’ll have to work to live it down.”

“Oh, goodie. How many monsters do you have with you?” Bonnie asked as they crossed back through the entrance to where the students were standing.

“Eighteen, so it shouldn’t be too bad,” Marceline responded. “I never have a full class. Not enough people like my subject. Get off the floor, Garth.” The boy scrambled to his feet, eyeing Bonnie as they strode past.

“That’s not so bad,” Bonnie agreed. “The last one was a nightmare of thirty.”

“Oh my god, and you _survived_?” Marceline gasped, honestly shocked. “How? Did they give you a pay rise? Therapy? Chocolate?”

Bonnie laughed. “None of the above. And I don’t know, but here I am. Swore I’d never do another one.”

“Sorry to ruin that for you.”

The guide shrugged. “It’s not so bad. But I prefer tourists. At least they know good manners.”

“Right,” Marceline muttered. “Listen up, goblins,” she called to the students. “This is Bonnie, she’s our guide, treat her like she’s made of glass and a single foul word will break her. Understand? If you have questions, you ask her because I’m not a wiki of any kind and you will listen if she has something awesome to say because I’ll be taking notes and there’s a pop quiz afterwards. Is that crystal?”

There was a chorus of vague murmurs that Marceline might’ve accepted as affirmatives only she wouldn’t because that’s not how she does things. She lifted one eyebrow at them and a much clearer ‘yes, miss’ rang out of the group.

“Dandy, let’s go.”

Bonnie smiled at her as she waved the kids past and into the section detailing some form of ancient African settlements. “You have a way with them,” she muttered.

“No,” Marceline snorted. “I don’t take their shit. I’d probably make a terrible mother, but keeping them in line isn’t so hard. I was one of the worst behaved students at school, I know all their tricks.”

“It’s like you’re behind enemy lines,” she laughed. “I wonder what your old teachers would say.”

“I don’t really want to contemplate that. Hey, what’s the bonus you’re getting for this? I feel kinda bad for roping you into it.” She didn’t, not really, it was just curiosity. Well, that and the way Rosie had said it was definitely worth investigating.

“Oh,” Bonnie sang vaguely. “I guess it depends on how well today goes.”

“Hey.” A student with rumpled brown hair sauntered up to them, grinning like a loon. “Guide Lady, we _aren’t_ all descended from Africans are we?” He seemed honestly offended by the possibility.

“Mind your manners, Dirk,” Marceline grumbled.

Bonnie didn’t even seem to notice the lack of any kind of proper _dignified_ honorific. “The speculation in most scientific fields pertaining to the evolution of mankind is that Africa is the cradle of life,” she told him. “The truth is we don’t really know and it seems fairly likely that several tribes of primitive man evolved simultaneously. That said, the Africa theory does have merit.”

“How did they get out of Africa though?” Dirk pressed. “It’s mostly desert.”

“Not back then it wasn’t. You’re forgetting that Earth’s climate is in constant flux, shifting between ice ages and tropical forests and barren deserts. If you dig deep enough through the desert, you’ll find fish bones. It wasn’t always dry,” Bonnie told him without hesitation.

Dirk frowned but took that answer and hurried off to smack Thom on the back of the head. “Behave,” Marceline called. They stopped whacking each other, only to turn the actions into prods. “I feel like I’m probably going to be apologising for their behaviour all day.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” the redhead replied with a shrug. “At least they ask questions.”

Slowly, the class meandered through history, passing lines on the floor with dates marked next to them and displays for all manner of important milestones. The discovery of fire, the wheel, mathematics, science, the development of the written word, wars and technology were all covered. And at every place they stopped, a student would ask a question to which Bonnie had an answer. Marceline supposed that made sense, she wasn’t a guide for no reason, after all.

Once they hit the music section on the top floor, Marceline anticipated a few things might stump the other woman. They didn’t.

“Hey, miss,” one of the girls began, trotting over with a pen and notebook. “There is a difference to instruments without frets, right?” The girl, Meg, directed the question at Marceline.

Bonnie was the one who replied. “Yes. Typically, musicians consider fretless instruments to be slightly more difficult to play and tune. Of course, only string instruments have them, so it wouldn’t bother a drummer.” Meg’s gaze shifted to the guide and she smiled before hurrying off. 

Marceline, meanwhile, felt her jaw hit the ground (and that wasn’t hygienic). “Are you some sort of walking encyclopaedia?” she asked the redhead, unable to mask her astonishment. “A cyborg perhaps?”

Bonnie shrugged. “Sadly no, to both of those. I just happen to know a lot of things. I like to learn. Science is my passion, but all knowledge is worth tucking away. Besides, it’s fun to see reactions like yours.” Her head fell to one side. “Why?”

“I’m the music teacher at the school,” she replied softly. “I do this tour every single year and all the other guides I’ve been through with have had an area of expertise outside which they know very little.”

“Frets _aren’t_ exactly hard to understand,” Bonnie said wryly. “Google could give a pretty basic description in five minutes.”

“Still… I don’t know much aside from music,” she admitted. “Computers I guess I can deal with too, but that’s just a side effect of growing up in my house. You just know everything. This must be the Matrix and you’re Neo.”

Bonnie laughed. “I’d rather not, thanks though. Why are you the one doing this tour, may I ask? Surely someone with a less specific field of interest should be doing it.”

“These are the students interested in doing music as an elective for the next four years,” Marceline clarified. “Thirteen year olds are a pain in my butt. The tour is just something the school runs to help them get an idea of what interests them. My colleague, Fionna, she’s the head of art and ends up with like forty kids doing her subject, so when she comes through to do this run it’ll be bedlam. Take a sick day.”

“That’s really strange,” Bonnie murmured. “But I guess if it works, right?”

“‘Works’ is a matter of opinion,” Marceline replied drolly. “Alright, minions,” she called as they shuffled out into the sunlight. “You get a twenty minute break to fuel your stomachs and then we’re heading down to the art building. There we will learn how to turn aluminium cans into a million dollar job and question our sanity. Go.”

They scattered. Whooping and squealing in a most degrading way, they dispersed across the lawn. Some of them deciding sun was better and others preferring the shade. Dirk and Thom pulled themselves up onto a retaining wall and were joined a few minutes later by Hannah. Marceline didn’t see any of that because she didn’t care and was already slouching off to the café to find a coffee.

“You don’t have to hang around with us all day,” Marceline said, surprise colouring her words, when she realised Bonnie had followed her.

The woman arched an eyebrow. “My company is bothering you?”

Marceline shook her head quickly. “Nope. I just figured you’d have something better to do than hang around with a _teacher_.” She shuddered theatrically.

It got the desired response – a brilliant smile – to flash across Bonnie’s face. “I don’t actually hate teachers, you know,” she told Marceline around her grin.

“What were you going to say about them?”

“That they’re often uptight and waspish because children are stressful,” Bonnie said bluntly. “So sometimes they’re hard to get on with. You do a marvellous job of taking all your latent anger out passively on your students though.”

“Practice,” Marceline said sourly. “I don’t actually hate them. They’re just annoying sometimes. Most people are.”

Bonnie clapped a hand to her chest. “I’m wounded.”

“I don’t think I’ve known you long enough to have met your irritating side yet,” Marceline chuckled. “Coffee?”

“On me,” was the hurried reply. “I get freebies because I work here.”

“Oh, I like you.”

“Find us a seat.”

Marceline wasn’t slow in doing as instructed; the café was mostly empty so plenty of tables were vacant. She picked one by the window, looking out over the river. It was a pleasant view, if she ignored the skyline on the far side and the occasional ferry that chugged by.

“You didn’t tell me what you wanted,” Bonnie said, sliding into the chair opposite. “So I just guessed black.”

“You guessed right. I’m pretty boring like that. Thanks.”

“My friend Norman runs the kitchen,” Bonnie went on. “And he insisted on food as well, so… free feed.” Marceline opened her mouth to protest but Bonnie waved it away. “Don’t mention it, alright? He’s weird like that.”

“You can’t feed me and expect nothing in return,” Marceline grumbled.

“You don’t owe me, we’re strangers.”

“Which is what makes this so bizarre.”

Bonnie lifted an eyebrow. “You want to make it up to me?” Marceline nodded. “I’ve been absolutely dying to see that movie _Sparked_ , but none of my friends will go. They don’t like horror flicks. You can come with so I don’t feel lame in the theatre by myself.”

Marceline smirked. “Horror? You don’t seem the type. Alright then, sounds good. Gimme your phone, I’ll punch in my number.”

The other woman obliged without even a hint of hesitation. “I’ll text you my address.”

“We could just meet at the cinema,” Marceline grumbled, adding herself to Bonnie’s list of contacts.

“What fun would that be?”

Marceline eyed her strangely, unsure what was happening right then. She wasn’t really _worried_ , because lunch was easy and Bonnie made the rest of the day a lot less painful than it could’ve been. It’s just that people she meets for five hours and then never sees again don’t normally want to prolong the experience.

It wasn’t until that Saturday afternoon after the movie that she realised – while subconsciously deciding that making Bonnie laugh in that delightful way she had was something she’d like to do every day for as long as she could – maybe the bonus wasn’t something materialistic. Even as the thought flashed through her mind and vanished, blotted out by Bonnie’s smile, Marceline concluded that she wouldn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the kind of teacher I aspire to be.


End file.
